


what happened last night?

by withasideofangst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, (not on screen), Crack Treated Seriously, Don't copy to another site, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, Hangover, Holiday Fic Exchange, Humor, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21949315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withasideofangst/pseuds/withasideofangst
Summary: Gift exchange fic prompt:Pairing (s): Harry/Tom (Voldemort)Characters to include: Bellatrix, Narcissa, HermioneItems to include: Blanket, Sunglasses, Vase---From somewhere nearby on the floor, there’s a drawn-out, pained groan, which perfectly echoes how Narcissa feels right now-- although the sound only serves to add to the pain in her skull, so she refrains from producing one of her own.Instead, she chooses the petty revenge of flinging one of the pillows lying next to her in the direction of the sound.The slight indignant noise tells her that she didn’t miss her target.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	what happened last night?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheOnlyCeeCeeJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyCeeCeeJ/gifts).



> I don't know where this came from, but it was the only thing my brain produced for the gift exchange prompt. I hope you like it? XD
> 
> Bad title is bad, but I couldn't think of anything better...
> 
> Oh and both canon and timelines are loose here, so I'm not tagging anything underage since they aren't necessarily.
> 
> (Language note: “chaise longue” = “chaise lounge” in the US.)

Someone is throwing blasting spells at Narcissa’s skull.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like, lying facedown on a chaise longue that only seems vaguely familiar, at the moment.

From somewhere nearby on the floor, there’s a drawn-out, pained groan, which perfectly echoes how Narcissa feels right now-- although the sound only serves to add to the pain in her skull, so she refrains from producing one of her own.

Instead, she chooses the petty revenge of flinging one of the pillows lying next to her in the direction of the sound.

The slight indignant noise tells her that she didn’t miss her target.

There’s a different, unfamiliar whine from further away, followed by the shuffling sounds of someone moving about, and Narcissa finally cracks open an eye.

Her sister is indeed lying in a pile of pillows and blankets on the floor, in the middle of a sitting room that she recognizes as belonging to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

She doesn’t remember why they’re at the Black townhouse through the pounding in her skull, but there are vague memories of temporary truces and a  _ lot _ of alcohol the night before.

Narcissa shifts again, to look towards the shuffling sounds, and sees the muggleborn Granger girl moving around, clearly also hungover, heading towards the kitchen. She is wearing a pair of dark sunglasses-- which Narcissa is immediately jealous of, as the light is physically hurting her right now, dim as it is in the room-- and a blanket like a cloak, and her hair is frizzy enough to match Bellatrix’s at the moment. She looks no better than Narcissa feels.

A few moments later, Narcissa has a newfound hatred for the girl, as she startles upright to the sound of pots and pans banging together.

Bellatrix evidently agrees, as she blindly reaches out to throw a pillow at the girl now standing in the doorway again, floating pots and pans spitefully banging along behind her, but misses, and the pillow instead sends a vase on the mantle crashing to the ground. (Narcissa vaguely recognizes it as a truly horrid piece some relative had given her aunt for Yule decades ago.)

Bellatrix just about whimpers at the sound.

Narcissa gives up peace and quiet as a lost cause, and heaves herself upright before fumbling for her wand and summoning a hangover potion for her head, hoping there’s one nearby.

Thankfully, one soon floats through the doorway, surprising Granger as it floats into Narcissa’s hand.

She drinks it and immediately, her headache dies down to more tolerable levels.

Granger copies her, and the pots and pans mercifully stop banging together. Narcissa takes pity on her sister and summons her yet another one, and finally all three women in the room are upright and mostly aware.

Of course, this does nothing for Narcissa’s murky memories of the night before.

Bending her pride, since it is clearly already damaged beyond repair if she woke up with a hangover of that size in the ex-headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, she looked towards Granger.

“Do you recall why we’re here, and what happened last night?” She asked.

Granger turns slightly to look at her, and frowns.

“I... I remember something about a truce, and... Voldemort was here, and then it’s all a bit fuzzy, until Harry--”

The girl freezes, before gasping and bolting out the doorway, and Narcissa can hear her running up the stairs.

There’s only silence for several long moments, while Narcissa and Bellatrix frown at each other, and then there’s a shriek from the girl upstairs, followed by indistinct voices’ muffled swearing, and then the sound of Granger running down the stairs again.

Her face looks like it can’t decide if she should turn white or green, when she’s in the doorway again.

“I found Harry,” she says flatly, and Narcissa raises a perfectly-arched eyebrow.

That doesn’t explain the girl’s reaction. She looks like she is going to be sick.

Granger evidently realizes that Narcissa hadn’t understood, as she breathes in deeply, face twisting, and continues.

“...And I found  _ your lord _ at the same time.”

Narcissa and Bellatrix just blink at the girl, not really following.

“...In one of the bedrooms,” Granger finishes.

After several moments of silence, Bellatrix shrieks, realizing what she meant before Narcissa’s brain can accept it.

Shoving the Granger girl aside in the doorway and bolting up the stairs herself, Narcissa can hear her throw open a door somewhere upstairs, followed by a few seconds of muffled swearing again, what sounds like a blasting curse, and then finally her sister’s high-pitched, semi-hysterical laughter.

When she finally re-appears behind Granger in the doorway, Bellatrix is still laughing-- cackling, really. She is  _ literally _ rubbing her hands together and dancing in place.

“Potter and our lord, sitting in a tree--” she sings gleefully.

Granger’s face twists and blanches again, at the reminder of what she’d seen upstairs.

Narcissa very carefully refuses to picture it.  _ Very carefully. _

She knows the Dark Lord has rather obviously been obsessed with the Boy-Who-Lived ever since his failed Avada Kedavra, but she’d not quite imagined the obsession would take an... amorous edge, as the two others were clearly implying.

And she really,  _ really, _ doesn’t need those images in her head.

Granger shudders and shakes herself, clearly trying to shake off the images herself.

“It’s too early for this,” she grumbles, heading back into the kitchen.

Narcissa follows her, ignoring her still-laughing sister, and busies herself making tea, while the girl just slumps over at the kitchen table.

“What the hell happened last night,” the girl mutters again, rhetorically, and Narcissa still very much would like to remember that herself.

She still only remembers copious amounts of alcohol, both muggle and magical.

“...Never drinking again,” she mutters herself, and Granger snorts in agreement behind her.

Their eyes meet briefly as Narcissa serves them both tea, leaving another cup on the counter in case Bellatrix wanders in, and Narcissa tilts her head slightly.

“Hide all the remaining hangover potions?” She suggests idly.

Granger blinks, then a smirk worms its way onto her face.

“Considering I have no doubt this is somehow Harry’s fault? Oh yes, that’s a  _ fabulous _ idea,” she replies, and quickly begins summoning any type of hangover, pain, or headache potion in the house, and shoving them all into a small bag.

“I’m never, ever letting him forget this,” Granger mutters again, then pauses. “ _ Either _ of them. Bloody Potter Luck.”

Narcissa just tips her teacup slightly in agreement, as Bellatrix wanders in,  _ still _ laughing, and collects the remaining cup of tea.

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, Voldemort is still Snake Face in this. Don't picture it.
> 
> ...You did, didn't you.
> 
> ...Whoops, sorry?


End file.
